What They All Needed
by Who-Wouldn't-Waver-With-You
Summary: Oliver Twist A girl is thrust out of the world she knows and into that of the Artful Dodger. But it turns out she's what they all needed, a certain Jack Dawkins in particular... Dodger/OC... Sorry can't summarise! Action and some fluff.
1. Chapter 1 The Boy

**Author's Note: OK, this is my first ever Charles Dickens fic, so be kind. Also I know this first chapter is really long, but I felt it was necessary. It's kind of a bonus pilot, if you get me. In case you want to know this is based on my biased views of Oliver Twist as I've seen it in Oliver! (1968) with Jack Wild and Ron Moody, and also Oliver Twist with Andy Serkis, Robert Lindsay and Michael Kitchen. Dodger is the character most coloured by this and he is most definately Jack Wild in my head. In fact I haven't read the book but I'm going to as soon as possible! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and please review!**

* * *

**What They All Needed**

by xWho-Wouldn't-Waver-With-Jackx

_Chapter 1 - The Boy_

* * *

It was three days since Anne first saw him.

The boy.

* * *

_She had seen him leaning against some railings when she had been sent for bread by her stepfather. Something about him had caught her eye._

_A presence._

_She kept glancing back at him as she stood in line outside the baker's._

_At first it had only been idle curiosity, but then he noticed her looking at him. He caught her eye and she felt a shock, like fire and ice; like she had leapt out of a burning building and into freezing water, but her insides were still ablaze._

_He half straightened up in an involuntary movement. His eyebrows were slightly knitted in a guarded expression of unsure appraisal, as though he was trying to judge if she was a threat. He looked like a wild animal, sensing if he ought to flee. He remained half held up on his elbows. Tense. Feral._

_But not fleeing._

_His curiosity was enough to keep him rooted to the spot._

_But then an impatient woman nudged her and she lost eye contact with the boy._

"_Do you mind? You are in the queue, ain'tcha?"_

_She glanced at the woman and then realised there was a considerable gap between her and the man in front._

_When she looked back, the boy had gone. _

* * *

She had felt oddly upset, as though he had broken some unspoken promise. A hollow feeling had enveloped her for the rest of the day.

* * *

_The next morning she had found an excuse to run another errand on the same street, but though she looked for the boy he was nowhere to be seen._

_Until she gave up looking._

_She had turned to set out back home when she saw him sauntering out of an alley. She paused and watched him for a moment, until a passing cart threatened to run her down. She moved to the very railings he had been leaning on the day before and observed him._

_He hadn't seen her this time. She saw him approach an elderly man in a fine coat and very white stockings. He glanced around as he tweaked the sleeves of his blue jacket a little higher up his wrists and approached the man. Standing almost back to back with him he looked up at the sky in an interested manner and -_

_Anne stared._

_His right hand, almost hidden from view behind him, had smoothly slipped into the man's pocket. She watched as he extracted a dark, leather wallet. Even from the other side of the street Anne could see it was crammed. As his hand came entirely free from the pocket she saw a pale blue handkerchief trailing from between the boy's middle and forefingers. He passed the wallet to his other hand and tucked it away inside his jacket while at the same time inspecting the handkerchief._

_A moment later he turned to the gentleman and tapped him lightly on the arm. She didn't hear what he said but he held up the kerchief and pointed to the ground a few paces away. The man touched his pocket, took the kerchief and shook the boy's hand. The boy touched the brim of his black top hat respectfully and turned away._

_At the entrance of another alley he took a last look round and finally spotted Anne. Again she felt the sensation - like being trapped in white-hot ice._

_She had not taken her eyes from him during the entire episode, nor had she opened her mouth to let the man know he had been pick pocketed._

_The boy stared at her a moment, his hand jerking unintentionally towards where she knew the wallet was concealed inside his jacket. Her eyes followed his hand and then flicked back to his face. She licked her lips uneasily as he looked at her, his eyes piercing though his expression was unreadable. Then, suddenly, he was gone. Vanished among the colourless shadows of the alley, like every other alley in London._

_Anne could not explain why she hadn't cried out. It was as if it had never even occurred to her to say anything._

_It hadn't._

_She told no one what she had seen._

* * *

And now she was walking along the same street on her way home. She wasn't sure how, but she seemed to be coming along this street every time she left her house. She reassured herself it was because it was near to her own street and led to anywhere worth going, but in her heart she knew it was a lie - there were shortcuts she hadn't used in three days and it wasn't coincidence.

And then she smelt it.

Smoke.

The bitter, acrid, intrusive smell of wood smoke.

Not tobacco, not even opium, though Anne had only smelt that once.

She looked up and just then people started to shout.

Smoke was piling into the clear air, air still crisp with the withered and dying grip of spring.

Smoke coming from her street.

She took off, her basket banging against her side, her skirt always in danger of tripping her but she had no time to hold it out of the way.

She arrived before anyone else, coming to her building from the back. Looking up she saw the smoke pouring out of an upstairs window. She tried the back door, but it was locked. Leaving her basket she set her feet and put her shoulder to the door. There was a dry sound of splintering, but the door remained closed. Taking a step back Anne picked up her skirt, raised a foot and kicked the door with all her might.

She almost fell over the threshold as the door gave way. Smoke billowed around her and she staggered back, trying not to inhale. She pulled off her shawl and, running to the water barrel beside the wall, doused it and wrapped it over her mouth and nose. Then she went in.

Instantly her eyes began to water, the stinging almost unbearable. But Anne was tough. She ran on and found the stairs, as yet untouched by the flames. She didn't understand where the smoke must be coming from. Surely it hadn't come down from an upper level? Didn't smoke rise? The smoke around Anne was rising and she rose with it, pounding up the stairs, flight by flight, in time with her pounding heart, until suddenly she couldn't go any higher. She smoke had gathered up here, with barely any ventilation to let it out, and she couldn't see a thing.

In the pitch black Anne called out for her stepfather, but she couldn't hear her own voice over the thundering of blood in her ears, strangely the only sound.

_He must have got out. _She told herself. _He must have got out and now I have to get out, too._

Turning she began to run back down the stairs, but in the dark she couldn't see where she was going. Her right foot landed awkwardly on the edge of a step, her heel catching and her weight coming down entirely on the rest of her foot, which was falling through mid air. Her foot turned until her toes hit the vertical edge of the step below, pain shooting up from her hyper extended ankle. She let out a strangled cry and her knees buckled, tumbling her down the remainder of the stairs to the landing. Her shawl had slipped off in the scramble and she began to cough as she lay panting and clutching her bruised knees, curling up automatically in agony.

A moment later, she willed herself back to her feet and limped more carefully down the penultimate flight of stairs. There was heat rising to meet her, now, and more smoke, always more smoke. Her eyes were streaming and all she could see was a strange orange tinge to the smoke below her. She stepped on to the last set of stairs.

There was an ear-splitting crack, like someone had fired a gun beside Anne's head. And she was falling. Falling into black, and red, and orange, smoke, heat and flame. Her scream was cut short by the ground as it rushed up to meet her. There was fire and fumes and splinters of collapsing stairs all around her, and pain, pain in her knees, in her ankle, her bare arms which bore the brunt of the scorching heat and she raised them to protect her face as she half sat, half lay in the chaos.

Then there was more. She heard a wet crunch and something hot and moist was spattered over her face. A strange sensation came over her left calf and suddenly she felt nauseous.

But she didn't have the time or the will to find out what had happened. She heaved herself up, her hair loose and plastered to her face with sweat and the moist something. She could feel whatever it was trickling as she forced her way through fire and smoke towards where she somehow knew the back door was.

And miraculously, unbelievably, she was out. She staggered a few steps until she was out in fresher air and fell to her already bruised knees heaving and coughing, trying to wipe her eyes in between retches.

Swallowing down the taste of bile and soot, she tried to get her feet back under her and began to straighten up, the nausea suddenly acute again as she did so.

There was a noise, magnified by some unnatural trick of proximity so that she heard or sensed it even above the raging inferno behind her. She looked up.

The boy.

He was standing, staring at her.

"You." she breathed.

He moved forwards even as the ground under her shifted and she fell into his arms as the terrible darkness closed about her.

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**Oooh! What's going to happen? Do you all know who the boy is? I hope so... So does anyone think they know what's going to happen next?**

**Please leave me a review! Good reviews get clouds and chocolate! Erm... yeah...**

**Love you all!**

**xxxxxxxx**


	2. Chapter 2 The Girl

**A/N: Hey, everyone! I just wanted to say a massive thank you to Broken Amethyst and breeza13 for reviewing so soon and encouraging me. Reviews are so lovely! You two get clouds and chocolate. As I once muttered to myself while stretching painfully: "Think about clouds and chocolate, and cloudy chocolate, and chocolate-shaped clouds..." I am not, as I'm sure you can tell, normal. :D**

**Well, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Personally I don't like it as much. But don't worry! Things will get more interesting again. I just thought I'd like to give Dodger's point of view on events. Bet you're mad, eh? Bet you wanted to know what happens next. Yup, I'm an infuriating person, alright! ;D**

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**What They All Needed**

_by xWho-Wouldn't-Waver-With-Jackx _

_Chapter 2 - The Girl_

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The Artful Dodger.

That was what they called him, and he lived up to it, day to day.

But today was different.

Today was the first time he saw…

…_her_.

He had been minding his own business, just waiting for a fresh opportunity on his favourite street, when he noticed her.

His eyes locked with hers. He stiffened, ready to leave, and quickly if necessary.

She was just staring at him with wide, brownish hazel eyes. Her hair was dark, perhaps a shade darker than his own, and fell loose a little below her shoulders.

Something about her made him curious.

More than curious.

Mesmerised.

His stomach was tight, thought moments before he had been the epitome of relaxation and confidence. His usual self in other words.

But that look…

Those eyes made him come over all…

…Jack Dawkins.

The him he had used to be.

Suddenly the woman behind the girl gave her a nudge and she broke eye contact. Dodger reeled for half a second, like someone woken from a hypnosis, blinked and was gone, dodging away.

He was unnerved. His palms felt sweaty. He rubbed them on his waistcoat. What had just happened? He couldn't explain it.

It was no good, though. He couldn't pick pockets when he was nervous. He'd have to walk it off.

Not that he _was_ nervous, of course.

He swallowed, nervously.

* * *

He was quieter than usual that evening, but nobody picked up on it.

* * *

The next day was even stranger.

Dodger was just picking the pockets of a rich old man. He had taken his wallet and handkerchief in one go, his signature move. Pocketing the wallet, he inspected the quality of the kerchief. Not worth a jot. He knew the maker, a crafty man who had the gift of speechcraft and mercantile, though not the gift of craftsmanship.

So he had tapped the man politely and asked if the kerchief was his, gesturing to where he had "found" it on the ground.

The man had been surprised and involuntarily touched his pocket, causing Dodger's heart to quicken should the man notice his missing wallet. Not that it would have phased him if he had; "You musta been pick pocketed! The kerchief can't be worth anythin' much if they left it there in the dust…" and, if necessary, a point over the man's shoulder, a shout and a hasty exit.

But the man had accepted his handkerchief graciously and shook Dodger by the hand. Dodger touched his hat, more to hide his unhelpfully smug expression; he just couldn't help himself. The irony got the better of him.

Turning, he made his way to an alley and glanced around quickly to check nobody had seen anything.

And there she was.

On the other side of the street, standing beside the railings, basket trailing from the idle fingers of one hand, her eyes wide and her lips sealed.

His hand made an automatic movement towards the wallet and her eyes followed its movement.

She knew.

She had seen.

But she wasn't raising the alarm.

He stared at her, and she licked her lips, her eyes uncertain.

Jack Dawkins backed into the shadows and, turning, began to run.

* * *

And then there was the fire.

He was just coming out of an alley on to his favourite street when he heard a shout and there was the girl.

He saw her start to run and without thinking followed her, but lost her for a minute in the maze of backstreets. He had just come to a halt staring in front of him through a veneer of shadows that seemed untouched when, from a parallel street he heard a crack and a crash.

He whipped round and began sprinting back the way he had come.

He reached the back of the building in time to see the girl on all fours wipe her eyes with one wrist and force herself to her feet.

As she did she swayed and he took a step forward. She looked up at him and he saw her eyes were red and streaming and there was blood trickling down her face.

He looked down and with horror saw a large splinter of wood, as big as a man's thumb if not bigger, embedded in her left leg.

"You." she breathed.

Then she swayed dangerously again and he moved forwards and caught her as she passed out.

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**Well, there we go! It's alot shorter than chapter 1, but then like I said, chapter 1 was a kind of bonus extra long pilot type chapter. They length is subject to change, mind you!**

**Please review! You don't have to be signed in, or even have an account to leave a review, but if you'd like me to get back to you thenyou could sign in orleave your email.**

**Love you all!**

**xx**


	3. Chapter 3 Bringing Her Back

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A/N: I have just worked out (because I have too much spare time) that on average over all my fics only 5 per cent of hits review. That means that 95 per cent of people who read my fics just read them and then leave. That is really quite depressing. Honestly, people, you don't have to sign in or anything! I don't care if all you say is "Great!" or "Keep it up!" or "Fagin is a bit out of character but otherwise OK", I like getting reviews! If you've got the time to read it, you've got the time to comment. Also I don't mind if you comment on every chapter. In fact I love that.

OK, rant over, here's chapter 3. Hope you like it!

And thanks to everyone who reviews, you people are saints! Really, I mean it.

By the way, I know I switch back and forth calling him Jack and Dodger, but it's to symbolise the effect Anne has on him. If a little inconsistently. Just so you know.

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**What They All Needed**

by xWho-Wouldn't-Waver-With-Jackx

__

Chapter 3 - Bringing her back

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Jack lowered the girl to the ground and knelt beside her. Her singed hair was plastered to her face with sweat and blood spattered from her calf. Her arms were blistered but her clothing, miraculously, was unburnt. Behind him there came another crash from the burning house. He turned his head and saw, through a haze of burning air, the nearest wall, sagging towards them.

Dodger snapped back to himself, lifted the girl and ran.

He was out of breath when he reached his destination. He kicked the door.

"Dodger!" he gasped.

"Cor! Who's she?" said the boy who let him in, stunned to see the girl in Dodger's arms. Dodger pushed past him and climbed the stairs two at a time. All the eyes in the room were upon him and the girl.

"Ooh, Dodger's got a girlfriend!" someone crowed, but all sniggering abruptly stopped as Fagin stood up from his makeshift desk and walked slowly towards his favourite.

"She- she's hurt." Dodger said, his voice ragged from sprinting.

"We'll put her through the back room." Fagin answered him, wisely not asking questions. He went to take the girl from Dodger, but he pushed past him and led the way to the dark little back room, the only privacy in the place besides Fagin's own room.

Kicking open the door Dodger laid the girl gently on the bed.

"Her leg…"

Fagin moved her skirt very slightly, uncovering the huge splinter lodged in the side of her calf. Dodger swallowed at the nauseating sight.

Fagin turned to the boys who had clustered around the door for a better look.

"Charley, Tom, get a couple of bowls of water and an old shirt. One of the worn out ones." he said quietly to the two nearest. They nodded wordlessly and turned away, showing past the boys behind them. "The rest of you, stop gawking and give us some privacy in here!"

They moved away, restlessly, with many a backwards glance.

Fagin turned back to find Dodger still staring at the splinter with a sickened expression. Just then the boys returned with the supplies Fagin had asked for. He tore a sleeve off the shirt and handed it to the boy along with one of the bowls of water.

"Here, get some of that blood off her face." he ordered. Dodger's eyes finally left the wound as he snapped out of his disgusted trance. Taking the proffered items he set them down on the hard chair that was the only other furniture in the room. He then dragged the chair over to the head of the bed and began to clean her face.

For a moment Fagin watched the reverence with which Dodger wiped the blood off her forehead. Then he ripped the other sleeve off the shirt and tied it tightly around the girl's leg above the splinter. Holding her leg down with one hand, he took a firm grip on the splinter, braced himself and pulled.

Dodger, whose eyes were fixed firmly on the girl's face, heard the disgusting, wet sound with horribly heightened awareness.

Fagin quickly bandaged the girl up and turned to Dodger.

"D'you want to stay?"

The boy nodded silently and Fagin left them.

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OK, I know this chapter is incredibly short and also crap. Sorry!

Please leave me a review! Good reviewers get to be my fairies! Umm... yeah...

Love you all!

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